Of Fads and Fetishes
by FierceLittleThing
Summary: 14,000 dollars for a whole month to whatever fantasy or fetish he desired. A single night at the Capitol's most luxurious and scandalous club, Panem, is well over a thousand dollars. But for the star player of the Raiders football team, Cato Hadley, nothing is too pricey for his tastes. Warning major smut in almost every chapter. Peetato
1. Chapter 1

**Well this is and idea I got from an E! Show called 'Secret Societies of Hollywood' (idk why I was bored asf) lol bit it a segment on basically the story line for this fanfic, and also it's a bit of a mixture of 'Hit The Floor', a VH1 show. I'm writing this just for fun really, and so I'm sorta kinda taking a break from my other story, but not a long one! I'm planning on around 10 or so chapters for this story, but updates may not be so fast with school starting the 25th and my other story. Oh and a major warning for this story, in almost every chapter (excluding this one) there's lots of smut and possibly BSDM. You've been warned! XD **

**Warning: future smut, violence, boy/boy, possible BSDM**

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to the wonderfully talented Suzanne Collins! **

**Enjoy! R&R please! :)**

* * *

_The money is smuggled in the most discreet manner possible. _

_14,000 dollars for a whole month to whatever fantasy or fetish he desired. A single night at the Capitol's most luxurious and scandalous club, Panem, is well over a thousand dollars. But for the star player of the Raiders football team, Cato Hadley, nothing is too pricey for his tastes._

~i~I~i~

Practice was kick ass today for Cato, the usual for the 24 year old. Having to deal with angry coaches, snobby know-it-all rookies and the nosy press is enough annoyance for a life time.

But that was his job, day after day to deal with each and every last one of these oppositions as the star player, not to mention the sore muscles that came with the package. Life was hectic and relaxation was a rarity. So when his best friend on the team, Marvel, introduced him the secretive club downtown, the chance to get a good fuck was too tempting to resist.

It wasn't like Cato _couldn't_ get laid, but the seclusive manner the place gave away was what really drew him in, never mind the fact that fantasies where granted and the prostitutes there where known to be from shy to outlandish and everything in between. Someone had to be there that fit his fantasy of a good night.

The only problem was he didn't know what he was looking for in a prostitute nor did he had the slightest idea of the sexual fantasy to pursuit.

"What can do for you?" A middle aged man asked. He looked shaggy and unkept, something uncommon here in Hollywood unless you venture out into poorest parts of the city. Like the Seam.

"I had an appointment booked here for the month. Cato Hadley."

"Ah yes the basketball player." The man said nodding while tapping his grimy fingers on his desk boredly.

"Actually football player,-" Cato corrected.

"I could careless." The man sniffed unamused. Somebody else stepped into the room at a fast paced, business like manner. It was another man, clean cut, handsome and with a oddly designed beard. Most likely a Capitolite judging by the facial hair.

"Haymitch!" He said in a hiss. "That no way to treat our newest guest." He turned to Cato, a blinding apologetic smile on his face. "My apologies, he can be a bit rough around the edges. My name is Seneca and I will be your tour guide for the evening. Anything in particular you are searching for?"

Cato shakes his head still contemplating what it is that he wants. There has to be something he's looking for, something different and unique.

Or of course, _someone_.

"Come, come I have everyone fit and ready just for you. You will defiantly find what your looking for here." Seneca grabbed his arm excitedly, leading him through underground pass ways and halls, to the lowest floor. He reminded Cato of his own escort and manager Effie Trinket, the bubbly woman with a slightly crooked cotton pink wig. Cato noticed how as they the descended farther into the ground, how the walls became more decorated and the floors more plush and expensive. To deter away the unwanted public probably.

"Here take this." Seneca said holding out a purple tinted pill in the palm of his hand for Cato. He studied it carefully.

"What's that for?" The man chuckled amused at his obliviousness.

"It's Nightlock silly! To help have some fun! Haven't you heard of it?"

He had heard of it. On the news, after a group of teenagers overdosed on the drug. If paired with the wrong substance it can kill in seconds. Cato pushed away the outstretched hand and closes his palm securely.

"Nah thanks, I'm good." Seneca shrugged and popped the pill into his own mouth.

"Well we here, there's different rooms for the different types of prostitutes."

There's different types of prostitutes? This place must be serious.

"The girls rooms are on the right side of the hall, males left. Which gender are you more inclined to? Or is it both?"

"Male."

"Good, great actually. We have some new ones that just came in. Have your pick." He says opening the door for Cato to pass.

The was set up was like that of a night club, men of all shapes, colors and range to unattractive to beautiful lounge around on couches, the floors or sit on stoops and swings. Quite a few even have animal features, the product of Capitol surgery. The richest of citizens here have been seen walking around with tails and dog noses so the extra features don't surprise him too much.

"Boys! We have someone who is here to see you!" Seneca called cheerily. All the males lined up in a very unified military way.

Cato scanned the faces of every last one of the men. Some are beautiful, some are plain faced or just down right unattractive. Body wise they range from stick thin men to morbidly obese men, but most of them retain the usually picture perfect six pack and good sized muscles.

One man tried unsuccessfully to seduce Cato by continuously playing with his bright green bejeweled g-string. The football star sighed. None of the men here were want he wanted.

He has some sort of picture of what he wanted now looking at the men. He wanted someone more...intense. And there are none here.

"So?" The tour guide asked overly cheerily. "Which one do you want for your month?"

"None." The disappoint was evident in his tone, and Seneca sniffed unhappily.

"No? Maybe we should start to list some qualities that you desire. Maybe someone big or handsome, or-"

"No." Cato interrupts having heard enough of Seneca scam-filled blabber. "I wanted someone with more

intensity to them."

The men in the room all shift their feet simultaneously at the word as if they all knew something or someone that Cato didn't.

"Intensity?" Seneca bewildered. "Describe that."

"You know somebody with flare to them, someone who's serious and great at the job. Who's not afraid to do what ever it is that I ask for them to do and more. The best."

The older man nodded in understanding. "There is one, but I'm not sure about him. He's a bit wild though, even for your adrenaline craving tastes, I'm pretty positive that you wouldn't like him."

"Let me be the judge of that. Where is he?" The 24 year old asked curtly. Vagueness was one of his major pet peeves and the moment Seneca was being very exclusive.

Seneca nervously pointed to the small door behind the array of swing sets. The prostitute's eyes followed them, watching every move the two men made. Cato cautiously opened the door his curiosity about the mystery man growing with every passing second.

Inside, a single cage stood dramatically in the middle of the room, a dim single light bulb lighting the room. The cage was large, suited for a bear than a human.

The man or should he say _boy_ stood against the metal bars, like a prisoner would. Instead of retaining the desperation of a jailed man would have, this boy leans seductively against the bright bars and grins knowingly at them as they enter.

When Cato hears the word prostitute he thinks, over blonde, Barbie inspired looking girls with breasts faker than plastic and a tan that resembles a Dorito. But the boy in front of him is very different from Cato's definition of a prostitute.

His hair is blonde yes, but not in fake, obviously dyed way. It has a natural glow to it that Cato finds more attractive than the blondes he sees on the streets.

Pale strips of skin show through the straps of the strait jacket he's wearing.

The jacket is bejeweled and colored, long claw marks open the fabric of restraint the jacket as if someone tried to rip it to shreds. While in his right mind, Cato would be afraid of anyone who wears a strait jacket to sleep, but he couldn't recoil in the slightest at this boy. In whole, the outfit along with the boy in it, was just plain sexy.

A long whip like tail springs its way into view. He too obliviously fell into the animal feature craze. Cato wasn't much of a fan of the fad, never would he decorate his body with tails or talons, but on this boy it fits. He tries to decipher what the hooker is mixed with, some type of feline judging by the tail and pointed ears. Possibly tiger or lion.

Someone behind him cleared their throat. "That's Peeta, he's what you would call an expert in this kind of thing. I assure you if an adrenaline rush is what you want, then by all means take him." The sales man sounded nervous for some unknown reason, his eyes adverted from the hooker and Cato.

"How much for a day with him?" Cato asks trying to get a gauge of how much he's planning on spending. Seneca just shook his head, stating that it was on the house. On the house? Sounds more as if they were talking about a drink than a person. Besides, what is it that makes a day with him so cheap anyway?

Peeta purrs loudly, making both men in the room turn to give him their attention. His eyes are alight with excitement and the lion tail curls around bars, slowly snaking it's way upwards. He seems almost giddy to know that he's being prostituted.

Okay so he's odd, but gorgeous and right now with the hectic yet dull life Cato is leading a little bit of oddness wouldn't be so bad.

The tail wraps around a leash on the hook behind the cage, bring it forth about five feet away from Cato. Seneca touches him forward gesturing to Cato to take the black fabric. He takes hesitantly, unsure if he should be buying a prostitute that needs a leash to be controlled.

"Why does he need the leash?"

"Like I warned you he's a bit wild and uncontrollable, but this is what you wanted right?" Seneca states giving the star a pointed look.

"I don't care cheap he is, but if needs a leash to be controlled it don't want him then." Cato spat, thrusting leash towards Seneca.

"Wait, wild was the wrong word to use. He just likes to cause...mischief, that's all." He looks at Cato who's still not convinced, his outstretched still holding the leash to give back. "Ok wait, I have deal for you. If you can somehow successfully tame Peeta and keep your mouth shut about our business to the public and press, you can keep him free of charge. But if word slips about Panem to the press you owe us all the money for the damages and he becomes ours again. Deal?"

He got to keep Peeta for free if no word of Panem slips out? Coming in here, he was expecting to pay another good thousand for his own prostitute for the month. Hell yeah that was a deal.

"Deal." Cato says enclosing Seneca's hand in his own large ones and shaking.

Peeta moves around in the cage excitedly ready to go and his tail snapping at the air. Cato walks to cage, all concerns of safety vanishing from that point and hooks the leash on Peeta's matching black collar. Seneca leaves the room just as excited as Peeta to grab his stuff for the month. That just left Cato and Peeta alone in the room.

"Can you talk?" Cato asks, genuinely curious. Peeta just stands behind one of the cage bars and giggles childishly. Bright white teeth shine through his parted lips, and Cato wonders randomly if he has ever had braces or some kind of dental surgery on them at one time in his life.

"So I'm guessing that's a no then." Cato states. Peeta just flicks his tail face at him, his handsome features neutral excluding the small, almost permeant seeming smile gracing his face.

"Do you want me to undo the jacket straps?" Cato tries again hoping get some human answer out of Peeta. He notes how he talks to Peeta, as if he where a child, demeaningly. Though for a person with a job like this, being degraded must be second nature to him.

Peeta leans as closely as he can to the bars, which Cato takes as a yes. The task is difficult through the cage but eventually the jacket undos and Peeta finishes it by ripping the rest off of his skin to reveal his bare torso to Cato.

For someone who's spends most of their time in a cage, his body is pretty amazing. He's not overly muscled or stocky like the guys at practice or lanky, if anything his body is lean and trim. Perfect.

Seneca bounds back down, still as giddy as he was going up. He holds a backpack which Cato assumes is Peeta's clothing, and a paper contract. It's fairly simple, bluntly restating the deal made earlier. Seneca's quick arrival back down with the contract makes Cato's wonder if somebody else has done this before. If somebody else also tried to take ownership of Peeta. And obviously failed.

They walk up the stairs in silence, Peeta's tail whips around happily, hitting Cato in the face on occasion. His excitement radians off of him in a way that fills the silence.

"Does he ever talk?"Cato asks Seneca. Though Peeta is good with communicating through body language, the muteness is unnerving and never hearing Peeta's voice is a bit saddening too.

"Oh he talks," Seneca reassures him, "He's very vocal in bed. Trust me I would know." He says winking at Cato's halted form. He can almost feel Peeta's cringe through the length of the leash. "But once you get to know him he never shuts up, I'm surprised he hasn't snapped a remark at me by now." The smirk on his face makes Peeta's ears flatten threateningly against his bright curls. Cato half expects a hiss to escape his mouth.

A intoxicated Haymitch meet them upstairs, leaning drunkenly against a nook in the desk. His glassy eyes spotted Peeta and he immediately stood to greet him.

"Peeta old boy! Never thought I'll see you escape from your cage. Who's the clueless dumbass who bought you this time?" Peeta snorts then giggles again, making the leash quiver. Cato comes up the rest of the stairs to stand behind him, shooting daggers at Haymitch's unaffected form.

Seneca swats Haymitch lightly on the arms before handing Cato Peeta's things. All the while Peeta directs his gaze to window outside.

Cato can't help but to tighten his grip on Peeta's leash, just in case he tries to bolt.

The sales man sends them off in a hurry, shooing the two into Cato's luxury car before hopping back into his business.

Cato tried unsuccessfully to ask his new prostitute questions durning the car ride, which Peeta merely replied to with a purr or some other unintelligible noise. Or of course, silence.

Cato tried to avoid touching Peeta as much as possibly, which is stupid, completely counteracting the purpose of him. But he didn't want to scare him away. Also stupid since Peeta has a noticeable fearless streak to him.

So Peeta surprised him when he overlapped him small hands on Cato's large ones and grinned at him. Cato smiled taking his eyes off the road for a second to direct the smile to Peeta. He didn't notice Peeta's other hand snaking upwards on the wheel until a sharp jerk of the car sent flying off the road.

They didn't crash but the impact against the curb made a very visible dent in the front bumper.

"Peeta! What the hell!" Cato yelled. Peeta just giggles mischievously in response, not caring about the well bring of Cato's car.

"What's so funny, is it that you almost crashed my car?" He began to think Peeta was more of a mental patient then a prostitute. Maybe he became suicidal after spending all of his time in that cage and strait jacket. Makes enough sense.

Peeta yet again surprises Cato by taking both is hands in an excited gesture and speaking for the first time, his voice hyper like a kid on a sugar high.

"I'm just going to have so much fun with you!"

* * *

**Hmm fuck the ending it sucked ass XDD but review and tell me whether I should continue or not! Oh and for the future sorry for any mistakes I make with the whole football thing, I'm not too knowledgable, I'm a soccer gal XD **


	2. Chapter 2

**Well here's chapter two. Not much to say except to read and review please**

**Warning: future smut, violence, boy/boy, possibly BDSM**

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to the wonderfully talented Suzanne Collins!**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

His home wasn't overly large or extravagant, it just barely could be called a mansion. His personal items weren't exotic or expensive, but logical. Cato decided a long time ago that he would wait until the prime time of his career to start spending, which one could argue that it was now.

The boringness of it all made Peeta antsy. This tour of the house was unnecessary, sooner or later he would find his way around it.

"And that's mainly all there is, do you need anything?" This made Peeta purr excitedly. He needed to do his job and give Cato a good night.

He stepped forward to the other blonde so they were now chest to chest, and tilted his head up so Peeta's lips were right next to his ear. "I need you," He purred.

Cato pushed him away bewildered, "What?! No- I mean," he stuttered, "Don't you think we should get to know each other first? I mean we are going to spend the rest of our lives together if this deal goes right."

Peeta laughed at that, the stupidity of it all was hilarious. "I'm your hooker, this is what you bought me for." Cato cringed a little at the word hooker and Peeta notice. "Sorry you would rather me be your slave? Or how about bitch?" Cato shook his head mumbling that he was just Peeta.

Peeta snorted at that. "Just Peeta? I would have stayed on the streets for that." Another idea pops into his head reasoning why Cato was so unwilling.

"Is it because your not ready?" He whispered though no one else was in the house, with a single upturned eyebrow. "I know people like you who need a little stimulation before the main course. Don't worry I can't fix that!" He says and plopped down on his knees so that his face is level with Cato's crotch. Cato covers his groin protectively from Peeta, who looks at him confused.

"No! No! It's not that. Look can I have to sleep, _unlike you_ I have a job in the morning that's waiting for me."

Peeta rolled his eyes at the jab, "And I have a job at night. But whatever Master."

"Don't call me that." Cato grunts as he tugs Peeta away to his new bedroom.

~i~I~i~

The sound of porcelain and acrylic dishes breaking as they touch the floor jolted Cato awake. He winced at each crash or clang as if the it was him who was breaking apart. A near by umbrella was clutched tightly in his fist as he descended down the stairs.

In the middle on the dish mess sat Peeta giggling madly. "Peeta! What the hell?!" Cato then saw the chipped bottle of wine clutched in Peeta's hand. "Shit," he tugged away the bottle from his grasp, "You have one minute to explain mister."

"Mister," Peeta repeated causing another fit of giggle to erupt. Cato slaps his hand on the table having had enough, "Ok, ok. I was just looking for something." He hiccuped.

"And that was?"

"Forgot." Cato sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair and rubbing his temples tiredly.

"Just go to bed okay? Please?" Cato begged. The end of the season Super Bowl was coming up and he needed all the rest that he could get.

"With you right?"

The older blonde groaned at the sexual joke, "Just go to sleep." He half yelled, face in hands.

"I'll gladly sleep with you!" Peeta quipped amused at his own joke. A can of whip cream grabbed his attention then. He poured a heaping amount into his mouth before Cato snatched the can away.

"Godammit Peeta! Your not helping! The last thing I need is you on a sugar high! Just go!"

"Wanna go have s-"

"Peeta." Cato said his voice low.

"Fine fine. I know when I'm not needed." He says and finally walks, well crawls, out of the room, making sure to wiggle and switch his ass as he crawled.

Just to show Cato what he will be missing for the night.

~i~I~i~

At practice Cato decided that Peeta as not as insane as he is horny. Seneca did warn that he would be a bit of a nuisance, but he didn't think to this level. This morning Peeta stuck on to Cato's legs like a leech as he tried to dress for practice, in a dramatic declare to have sex. He even tripped him up with his tail a good couple of times.

Yes that boy was a nuisance. But Cato had to give it to him. Never once did falter in his pursuit for sex, he's definitely not the type to give up quickly.

Thinking about the gorgeous blonde at home created slowness in his performance, and he slipped up more often.

"Hadley man! What the fuck is wrong with you?" Marvel said laughing at he ran up to Cato at the bench. "You look like a rookie out there. Did your drug dealer run out of crack?"

"Ha ha I'm dying." Cato said stiffly, "And no it's just my-" His what? Peeta wasn't legal, so he could just say prostitute and he definitely wasn't his boyfriend. So what was he? "My cat. Yeah my cat as been keeping me up all night."

"Your cat?" Cato nodded a bit too quickly. "Well I hope I can't meet this mystery cat at poker tonight." Cato's eyes widen in horror. "Oh damn! Please tell me you didn't forget that tonight was poker night?!"

On every third Tuesday of the month, the boys meet up at Cato's house for poker, the boys including Marvel, Gloss, Finnick, Brutus, Thresh and of course Cato. It was tradition and Cato had forgotten it.

"No," he said meekly. He cleared his throat to sound more convincing, "9 o'clock right?"

"8" Marvel corrected, "You better get your shit together Cato, the games are coming up a we need at your best." With that he left to go join the rest of the team discussing a play.

Peeta Mellark was going to be the death of him and the cause of the failure of this team.

~i~I~i~

Cato speed away quickly after the final play discussions, to get set up and ready for tonight. It wasn't that his house needed to be set up and ready, more that it was someone who needed it.

He didn't have any maid or housekeeping, so he mentally prepared himself for scattered dishes

and toilet paper strewn everywhere, something that he also woke up this morning.

Instead he walks into a home so fresh and clean that it stuns him for a moment. The house has _never_ been this clean. He spots Peeta in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by bottles and spray cans of cleaning chemicals he didn't even know he had nor even existed.

"Well? Am I amazing or not?"

"Um... This is just great Peeta really." And he meant it. Cato was a naturally disorganized and scruffy person and things tended to become out of place.

"I know, I'm a damn good hooker." He says, a pearly white grin on his face.

"I didn't even know you where this clean." Cato admits.

"Oh come on! I'm part feline, they're naturally clean animals. I was one of the first to get the procedure done, so not only did I get the extra appendages but the qualities and behaviors as well." Cato doesn't respond, thinking it over. "Hey, also did you know that felines are naturally slutty animals too?" He asks with the same dimpled grin.

"Nice try kitten." He says laughing at Peeta's frown. "I have poker tonight with the boys so I need you upstairs in your room and silent. In fact here." He tosses Peeta a bottle of NyQuil from the medicine cabinet. He looks at the drug skeptically.

"Isn't this illegal?"

"Isn't prostitution illegal?" The older blonde retorts with a wink.

"Touché."

~i~I~i~

The loud laughter of the guys as Finnick attempts to chug down a while bottle of whiskey can be heard upstairs to where Peeta lies awake.

It wasn't fair that Cato excluded him from all the action, especially not after he cleaned the whole filthy damn house. He was pretty sure he spotted multiple rat droppings while cleaning.

The least he could have done was offer up a quickie in return for his hard work, but _no_ Cato wants to play soft and 'get to know' him. The idea still makes Peeta snort and roll his eyes. One day he will have to show Cato the definition of a prostitute in the dictionary. Perhaps the urban one if he's that slow.

Maybe his friends would understand and let him join the party.

Marvel left to go to the bathroom leaving Cato with the boys and Peeta blowing up his phone from upstairs.

_Peeta: now can I come down?_

_Cato: no Peeta just stay_

_Peeta: plz? Or can you come upstairs?_

_Cato: whyy? _

_Peeta: I'm horny ;) _

Damn Peeta. He was making this harder than needed. The last thing he needed was a hard on at the poker table. It was his turn, when Marvel came in looking straight at Cato.

"Cato you dog." He said with suppressed laughter. "You hoarded this fine piece of ass away from us claiming he was your cat?" Behind him trails a smug Peeta. Cato groans loudly. Marvel usually swing that way, but would gladly fuck anything remotely attractive.

Peeta makes his way over to the table and plops himself right down on Cato's lap. The boys greet him heartily, with Finnick practically drooling. Thresh snaps his jaw upward laughing. "If your going stay then you got to play." Brutus declares looking right into Peeta's eyes amused.

"I haven't played in years but I'll give it a go again." Peeta states hopping off of Cato's lap and finding his own spot in between Cato and Marvel.

"Let's start."

~i~I~i~

Peeta tossed around some of the chips on his hand with smirk on face. "So I took your chips and your money. Anything else you guys want to give up?" The game was a loss cause with him playing, somehow he actually did manage to take their money and win.

"If I could I would give you my virginity. But that's long gone." Finnick muses winking flirtatiously at Peeta. They've been at it like this since the game started, Cato wouldn't be surprised if Finnick corners him on his way out for a quickie.

"Oh Finnick you sly devil. You won't tap this anytime soon." Peeta says with a flick of his tail.

This was nauseating, "We have practice tomorrow you guys need to head out, like now." Eventually they filed out, but not without Finnick giving Peeta a smooch on the cheek and his number.

"Jealous much?" Peeta asks after everyone is gone.

"Nope, why do you say that?"

"Your a terrible liar Cato." He just shrugs in respond. "So if Finnick came back in here and fucked me blind you wouldn't care at all? Another shrug. "And if I called him Master you still wouldn't care?"

That grabbed Cato's attention.

He walked up Peeta silently, realizes the major height difference for the first time. How could such a little person cause so much trouble? "Finnick is not your Master, I am." His voice is even and determined as he looks right into Peeta's stunningly blue eyes.

"Your not acting like it. Show me."

Cato hooks his hand underneath Peeta's sweatshirt, pinching his nipples lightly as the other hand unzips the jacket. Peeta moans, his moans much different from his usual seductive purr. Peeta's hands fly to Cato's pants undoing them in a swift motion.

The shorter blonde rubs Cato's erection, speeding up and slowly down at different paces making Cato antsier with each rub.

He get down on his knees and frees Cato from the confines of the now tight fabric. Taking him into his mouth he hums periodically emitting moans of pleasure from Cato as he bobs his head up and down. His tongue runs up and down his cock, and while Peeta's tail plays mindlessly with his balls. Cato's two bobs away from coming in Peeta's mouth before he let's go, standing up to kiss Cato full on the mouth.

He tastes himself but doesn't mind, fully ready for the main course. Peeta whimpers as one of Cato's fingers enters him, making the purrs return full fledge. They shred off any barriers to one another, their moans filling the air as they work.

Cato enters Peeta, surprisingly tight for someone who's job is to have sex.

A few thrusts in, he's about to come and tells Peeta this too.

"Don't. Not until I'm ready."

"What?!" Cato pants out slowing down a bit, "But I'm-"

"You better not."

Cato groans and pumps faster. He about to give out before he hears Peeta moan something.

_"Master."_

The word caused a spark in Cato to thrust faster, to show Peeta that indeed he is his only Master.

They finish simultaneously orgasming with either a yelp or a purr. By far that was the best orgasm Cato has had in his 24 years, Peeta however doesn't seem to effected by it, more pleased that he got what he wanted.

"You don't seem like you enjoyed it," Cato pants out, worn down.

"Oh I did, but this is nothing compared to what I have planned for you. Eventually we can have some real fun." His eyes are alight with the thought, "I mean I didn't bring my chastity belt for nothing."

"There's no way in hell that I'm wearing that thing." Cato says sternly.

"Oh course not. Go to bed you have a long week ahead of you, Master." Peeta smirks at him and slaps his ass as he stands up.

The way Peeta controls Cato is as if he is the dominant one, not Cato. Eventually he will have change that. He lies awake for sometime retelling the glorious orgasm and the feeling of Peeta's mouth on him. Secretly plots how to make his hooker feel the same way. Cato has to laugh at himself after the pleasurable tremors of the orgasm fade away, for actually _plotting_ his next move on Peeta. Never has he thought about sex as intensely until tonight.

Yes, Peeta Mellark was definitely going to be the death of him.

**Yup this story is most definitely for fun XDD I tried to improve my smut writing but I some help. You guys criticism would be greatly appreciated trust me lol. Review please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is basically like a series of crazy things that Peeta does with Cato, (most of them sexual). Thank you to anyone who reviewed, followed/faved, etc. Even if you just like read some of this story thank you lol. Seriously y'all my motivation. Anyhoo I just wanna say that I don't own the Kim K game (which I'm currently addicted to XD) or the small Kevin Hart moment I added in here XDDD Idk what else to say here except to read and review please! :D**

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to the wonderfully talented Suzanne Collins!**

**Warning: future smut, violence, boy/boy, possible BDSM**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Faster Hadley! You wouldn't run like this durning the games now would you? Faster, faster!"

Cato was seriously considering if his bank account would allow him to quit football because as of now, practice feels more like military training.

It's Peeta, in all his damn orgasm inducing glory that is causing this. He made sure that Cato didn't leave the house without his morning quickie, almost like a mother racing to give their child a packed lunch before heading off to school. It was annoying yet needed to get through the day.

Their much needed thirty minute break finally came, the coach dispersing them to have a relaxation period. Cato phone buzzed and he turned it on to see Peeta asking for a FaceTime.

Dammit.

"What Peeta! What is it do you feel need to destroy this time?" Cato hissed into the phone.

Peeta rolled his eyes on the screen, "I know it's your thirty minute break right now Cato, don't act like it's such a big deal, you're not slick. And _besides_, I'm not here to destroy anything, rather grant all your wishes like a fairy or gene. Except I want you rub something other than a lamp."

Cato shook his head blankly. What does he mean? "Peeta I'm not following you."

"I would send you a dick pic, but I'm not sure if Finnick's around, that guy is a creep. Also I want it to be interactive, so do it with me!"

He about to question Peeta some more before he sees his free hand dip down into his pant and start the motions of jacking himself off.

"Peeta! I can't do that here!" He's tempted to end the call, but the scene was mesmerizing, and very, very hot. He starts to feel his own pants tightening and can't help but to rub himself against the edge of the bench. Most of the guys are inside grabbing themselves some food or water. Thankfully, or else Cato doesn't know if he would survive.

"Cato," Peeta whimpers his tail whipping around in the air as he climaxes, "Oh Master, even when your not here you still know how to fuck me blind." Peeta pants with the edge of a purr to it.

At his words Cato is about to bust a nut on the sideline of the field, when a voice calls his name. He almost cries.

"Hadley! I need to talk to you!" Coach Blight calls, waving him forward.

Peeta is licking his fingers now, batting his attractively long and thick eyelashes at the camera when he stops, taking the digits out of his mouth and saying, "Uh oh is that Coach I hear? I better go, see you soon Cato, and take care of that boner for me, 'kay?" He blows an air kiss before switching off.

"Peeta, wait-" Cato calls into his phone.

"Hadley!"

With a whimper Cato gets up to meet Blight in the middle of the field.

Why couldn't he just come to the bench?

The cup restainted his groin painfully as he walked. From a third party the sight might be hilarious, Cato walking in an odd gait to the coach with a raging boner, but to him it hurt like a bitch.

"Yes Coach?" He asks voice quivering.

"I've been noticing a lack in your performance, is everything okay?"

_'Oh besides the fact that I have a raging boner and my feline mixed hooker is basically dictating my life who caused said boner? Besides that everything is just peachy.' _Cato thinks sourly.

"Yessir. I'm fine." Cato saids unconvincingly, his words counteracting greatly with his thoughts.

Blight however seems convinced, nodding his head before going into a five minute drawl about future plays and men that he wants Cato on, while Cato stands there, secretly writhing.

"You got all that?" Cato nods his head hurriedly. Coach slaps his shoulder and pats it twice. "I just want you to do good." He states finally leaving Cato alone.

He makes his way back over to the bench trying his hardest not to sprint full out. His phone buzzes to reveal a text message from Peeta.

_Peeta: that was fun! maybe we can do it again ;)_

Damn Peeta Mellark. Damn him.

~i~I~i~

Cato hates traffic. He hates seeing it and he hates the effects. But of above all, he hates being caught in it.

Today was the drug test each player must take, just to be clear that there's no steroids or whatever else the Capitol has created running through the athletes veins. Cato's not too big of a fan of needles so he had begrudgingly brought Peeta along. Well no, Peeta brought himself along, refusing to let Cato leave without him tagging on.

He didn't even do his job and comfort him as the needle eased its way into his vein, instead taking a different approach and stated that Cato would be a pussy if he cried and left him to the needles to wander around the offices. Apparently he made a couple of men and women swoon at the sight of him, because he came back into the office with a least a dozen new numbers in his phone contacts.

So now they sat in the car, waiting for whatever accident that happened to be cleaned up, so they can finally leave already. It's only been thirty minutes but it feels like an entirety.

"God this is taking forever, it shouldn't take this long for it to be cleared up." Cato saids while rubbing his temples.

"Mmm hmm." Peeta agrees, his eyes are fixated on the game he's playing in his iPhone. For the past few days he's been addicted to whatever game he's playing. "Wanna waste time and fool around?"

Cato smacks his lips at Peeta's question. "No Peeta."

"Whatever, your lost. Why don't you tell me about work today." His voice gives away that he couldn't care less about Cato's practice, it Cato doesn't notice, instead jumping into a full detailed description about future plays and the progress of the team.

"Hey Cato, how many stars are in the sky right now?" He asks innocently, his eyes still locked firmly onto the screen.

He cranes his neck to see outside, looking everywhere for a star but not finding one. "Zero, why?"

"That's pretty much how many fucks I give about your football." He snickers and continues to play his game. Cato rolls his eyes at the statement, not having retort to snap back with.

"What are you even playing anyway?" He asks lamely.

"This Kim K game, basically the best thing in the world after sex and whip cream."

"Kim K?" Cato asks blankly.

"Kim Kardashian dumbass. And are you sure you don't wanna bump uglies? My energy is running low and soon I wouldn't be able to do anything."

"Very sure. I'm not taking the chance of someone seeing us."

"Oh don't insult my intelligence, the windows are tinted and it's night time. We will have all the invisibility in the world. Besides, I promise we won't have sex I just want to try something, that's all. Okay?" He pauses, setting down the phone with finality. He doesn't wait for an answer, unbuckling his seatbelt, swinging his leg over the bridge between them, and positioning his body on Cato's lap, before attacking his lips.

Though he didn't want to, Peeta was right, it's not like anybody can see. The thrill of doing it with the people around them unsuspecting is glorious, and frightening at the same time. He can almost feel eyes burning into the car, though really he knows that no one is watching.

Peeta suddenly gets an idea, removing Cato's shirt but leaving his own hoodie and shirt on. Cato makes a move to discard of his shirt before Peeta stops him, "Don't move or you will ruin my plan." Cato obeys and eyes him wearily as he uses the shirt to tie his hands behind his back.

"Bondage? What the hell Peeta? Isn't this sort of thing you know, _kinky_?" He feels Peeta rolls his eyes on his shoulder as he tugs at the ends of the shirt to make sure its tight enough.

"Oh please stop being dramatic." Peeta says, coming up from his work to look Cato in the eye. "Don't talk to me about kinky, _I know kinky_. One guy who came into Panem had a fetish for cockroaches, he had a farm of them at his house and everything. He wanted me to place them all over his body, supposedly to turn him on or whatever." Cato shivers a little at Peeta's story. That sounds awful.

Peeta gets to work however, completely forgetting about the tale he admitted just a minute ago, sucking and licking at Cato's bare nipples. He moans, his arousal becoming evident now. Peeta's talented fingers undo Cato's belt buckle with three quick motions and begins to unzip his pants and underwear. His rough pink tongue glides over Cato's chest, following down the blond happy trail that leads downwards.

Cato's arms tug at the shirt, instinctively wanting to touch him as well. Peeta looks up to smirk at his frustration. He sits up, taking out a small bottle of lube from his back pocket.

"You always carry that around with you?" Cato asks in disbelief, the boy was a literal walking sex machine.

"For emergencies, you never know when you might need a good fuck." He says it as if the answer is obvious. Cato guffaws at him but doesn't question it, resistance was futile.

The lube makes Peeta's motions faster, he brushes his teeth against Cato's shoulder and bites down, hard. He yelps, but doesn't try to shake Peeta off of him, the pain makes it strangely more thrilling. His tail curls around Cato's neck, squeezing it with surprising force.

Peeta keeps looking back over his shoulder at something, but Cato doesn't notice, too lost in his pleasurable bliss to realize that the traffic is clearing up, and cars speed past them.

The hooker shifts around to grind into Cato's still hard manhood. His fingers lightly touch the steering the wheel. Though he has never driven a car in all his years, he is smart enough to pick up bits and pieces of how it works. He decides with Cato tied up and distracted, now would be a good time to start a driving lesson.

He foot pushes down on the gas pedal, making the car surge forward. Cato's eyes flies open and he struggles against the binds to stop him.

_How tight he knot this shirt?_

Once Peeta decides that Cato has had enough scaring for today, his foot stomps on the brakes, just in time too, the car stops a feet few away from hitting a street pole. He catches sight of the terrified expression on Cato's face and throws his head back in laughter.

"I'm going to murder you," Cato saids through gritted teeth, his green eyes burning into Peeta's blue ones.

Peeta just laughs, "Don't say that now, the cops are here." Pointing out the blue and red flashes behind them. "And you're dealing with them." He declares poking a finger into Cato's chest.

He sighs, he just can't ever win with Peeta.

~i~I~i~

Whip cream is Peeta's favorite snack as it seems. The boy has an iron stomach, and can practically consume anything.

"Cato! Cato come here!" Peeta yells from downstairs.

"What now Peeta?" He asked wearily as he entered the room. Peeta sat at the kitchen table clawing at something in his hands, a can of some sort. Of course, whip cream.

"I can't open this, I think the nozzle doesn't work." He sounds agitated, trying to hit the can on different sides to make the cream come out.

"You brought me down for this mess?" Peeta stops working on the can to give him a pointed look, glare, his way.

"This is important. To me especially." He states in a fierce tone before going back to work.

Cato sighs, there was no way to reason with him. If he tried a snarky comment would be thrown his way. He had to admit that although Peeta was probably the most annoying creature to exist, he was quick witted and sharp as a whip. Being slick was in his nature.

"Here," the older of the two sighed, holding out his hand. Peeta shook head stating that he has it now. Cato reached to grapple for the can."Peeta your doing it wrong just let me-"

A burst of whip cream hit Cato's face, bits of the sugary sauce spraying into his nose and mouth. They both pause, while Peeta's mouth twisting childishly to suppress the laughter bubbling in his throat.

"Sorry," he squeaks out. He has to suck in his lips so hard, that those dimples form in his cheeks to trap the laughter. Cato's expression is unnervingly lucid and calm as he stares down at Peeta. He holds out his hand for the can which Peeta swiftly places it into.

"Cato? I'm sorry, its just whip cream, I just thought it would be funny." Though Peeta can only go off of assumptions, he can imagine that Cato is terrifying when angered.

Cato rolls the container in his hand silently, a small smile gracing his face. He directs the tip so that the nozzle is facing Peeta and presses down.

A shocked squeal escapes Peeta's mouth, now realizing Cato's revenge.

The two bark out in laughter, running playfully around the kitchen, with Cato spraying at him. They find themselves with Peeta in a headlock, the nozzle pointed directly into his face.

"Cato wait! Wait! Can we compromise?" His head is place in between his hands, making his laughter muffled.

"What sort of compromise?" Cato asks.

Peeta looks right at him a smug smile on his face. "I'll suck your dick for the whole football game tonight?" Of course Peeta's proposition would be a sexual offer.

Cato actually considers it, thinking it all over. "Halftime time and commercials?"

"Halftime and commercials." He confirms, nodding. A wide grin forms on his face at the ludicrously of the preposition.

"Well you better get some knee pads, it's going to be a long game kitten."

* * *

"Faster Cato," Peeta pants as Cato thrusts in and out.

He actually did follow through with his compromise, adding whip cream to the 'enhance the taste' as he put it. And this was his reward.

They both finsh, Peeta being last as always. For a while they just lie on the ground, Peeta waiting patiently for Cato to catch his breath.

"You ready round two?" Peeta asks wide eyed. Cato looks at him like he has two heads.

"Your a sex addict."

Peeta giggles feverishly, "It's in the job description." He states before attacking Cato's swollen lips.

Round two was happening now whether he was ready or not.

~i~I~i~

"Cato!" Peeta hisses, shaking Cato awake from his slumber. "Cato! Wake up please!"

A crackle of thunder makes Peeta even more frantic, shaking Cato harder.

"What Peeta?" Cato questions, his voice muffled by a pillow. He cracks open one eye to see Peeta leaning over him in an oversized dark green t-shirt, shaking uncontrollably. A trembling finger twirls around his tail continuously. Another roar of thunder makes him jump, and he puts a hand over his mouth to prevent a cry to escape.

"Can I sleep with you? Please?" He looks so young, younger than... however old he is now. They hadn't discuss sleeping in the same room, after Cato gave him the guest room neither of them questioned it. But right now he knows Peeta isn't looking for sexual advances, just comfort.

Cato blankly pats the space next to him, as large as he is, his body takes up most of the room but seeing how petite and small Peeta is he can probably do for the night.

Peeta wastes no time to hop underneath the covers, and molds himself into Cato's body. Another clap of thunder makes Peeta jump, his knee accidentally hitting Cato's groin. He groans, teeth clenched.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry it's just- sorry." His hands are cupping his face now ashamed. This isn't like the usual Peeta, who would laugh at causing Cato a bit of pain. It's a bit weird to see Peeta so... frightened and not fearless.

"It's fine Peeta, really. I'm just confuse as to-" Another clap of thunder. This time however Peeta doesn't jump, but instead takes the end of his tail into his mouth and bites down, _hard_. So hard that he would have drawn blood if Cato hadn't ripped away the furry appendage from his white teeth.

It's at that moment that Cato realizes just how _little_ he knows about Peeta that would cause him to act this way. He just barely found out his last name, and that's just because his eyes happened to skim over Peeta's name on Seneca's contact. The least he could do was start with was his age.

"Peeta?" Cato starts, "Just how old are you?"

"19 why?"

_19 years old?_ It seems like a mass gap, even though it was actually just five years apart.

19. The number rolls over and over again in his head. Just a year ago was he officially an adult, not even legal to drink, he is still in his _teens_.

When exactly did he begin to sell himself? Seneca stated that Peeta was their best, the most experienced person at Panem. It takes a while to become the best, Cato would know. It took himself at least five years to become even a thought among the major teams, though football and prostitution are two totally different subjects.

For some reason, a fuzzy image of Peeta in his early pre-teens visiting Panem in hopes of a job finds it way into Cato's half alert mind, making his heart pound mournfully and he feels nauseous. This isn't right, it's not right to play a part in robbing Peeta of his youth. He knows now that buying Peeta was a mistake, but what was worst keeping him as some sexual toy, or giving him back to Seneca to be resold again?

The answer lies within Peeta, who now clings tightly onto Cato's shirt like a lifeline. Had it not been for Peeta's playful nature and attraction to mischief, had he have been rigid and cold, only venturing anywhere near Cato if absolutely needed, the guilt who had consumed him. If he hadn't tried so hard to wiggle his way in Cato's life, he would have returned him because of it.

"Why is my age important to you?" Peeta asks in a strained voice, broken from his panicked cries most likely. The pitter patter of rain on the roof can finally be heard now. Somehow it makes the thunder more tolerable now for Peeta, it seems more like a endurable storm than a raging war.

"Well, don't you think it's a bit odd that I'm having sex with a person who's still in their teens? I mean from the courts point of view, this is considered under aged molestation. I could go to jail." His attempts at lightening the mood work, and Peeta's head snaps up to look at Cato with a look of mock seriousness plastered on his face.

"Don't think I'm opposed to kneeing you in the dick again." He threatens. Cato chuckles at the fierceness in his tone and for a moment the storm is forgotten. But just for a moment.

He can't help but wonder why he's so terrified of the sound after another bolt of lightening strikes the ground and Peeta reverts back to before. "Why are you so scared? Of the storm I mean."

Peeta shifts away from him, so that his back is facing Cato's front and mumbles into his pillow, "Earthquake." He states with a groan almost as if it's an embarrassing thing to announce.

Earthquake? Was Peeta possibly from _the Seam_? There was a devastating earthquake that happened there a years ago. It hit most of the outskirts of the city, where the Seam lies. Even now there is still leftover debris that has yet to be cleared up. What a terrible ordeal to go through, Cato only ventures out into the Seam when he has to, the sight of such dejected people and crumbled buildings is stomach turning.

"Are you," He swallows back what he was going to say and instead chooses a different question. Somewhere in his muddled mind he knows that now is not the time to ask where Peeta was born, "Are you okay?"

"I guess so." He says but his tone gives it away, a clear no, he isn't okay.

Cato decides then that Peeta not as insane or horny or even _mischievous_ as his just, lonely.

* * *

**Sorry if that got confusing or anything I basically just wrote whatever I thought of :S XD. And if you didn't catch the Kevin Hart moment if was just the 'I'll suck your dick for the whole game' thing XD. Well read and review please!**


	4. Chapter 4

**So yes you guys can burn me at the stake if you want, almost a month of not updating is not good:/ I have excuses but all I can really say is that it's me vs school and as usual school is winning. I'm little apprehensive about this chapter, since it's been so long since I've even messed with writing, so sorry ahead of time for any mistakes or if it's just plain bad :/**

**Also, I have two new stories that I'm currently working on (both Peeta/Cato stories to be exact) but they are both one shots so I'll still be focused around this story. Look at the end of this chapter for the summaries of both. **

**As for 'Into the Wolf's Den' that story is in need of a serious rewrite, so I will return to that as soon as I can. **

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to the wonderfully talented Suzanne Collins!**

**Warning: future smut, violence, boy/boy, possible BDSM**

* * *

Reporters with their insect-like cameras, crowded around Cato and his team as they exit from the main room in stadium to the locker room in hopes of exchanging a few words with the players. The main focus was on Cato however, everyone wanted to know how the star was planning on taking his team to victory.

But Cato avoided the cameras and questions as best as he could, because not even he was sure of how to lead the team to a win.

Marvel jogged up behind him, the under-gear jiggling slightly with each movement. His mouth was stretched into a fake smile, with the rest of his features serious, oddly different from his usual lopsided grin. The smile was supposedly meant for the cameras still trained on the team. "Cato! Hey man," He says, slapping Cato on the shoulder with a bit too much aggression. "You ready for the press conference tomorrow?" To an outsider, the question would seem innocent but Cato knew better. His tone was accusatory and the question was a rhetorical one. They both knew that Cato wasn't ready.

"Actually I won't be attending the conference, as you probably already know." He spits the last part through a cheek throbbing smile for the cameras, his eyes narrowed. Hooking an arm around his gym bag he tries unsuccessful to maneuver around Marvel, who doesn't let Cato pass without discussing the 'problem' at hand. Cato knew exactly what the problem was too.

"Cato, I need to talk to you. It's about Peeta." At his name Cato began to feel slightly dizzy, he knew where this was going. Marvel continued on,

"Listen I know you really like this guy, but Cato you have to do what's best for the team right now, and right now Peeta is just too problematic for us to deal with-" he doesn't know why but a strange burning feeling in his chest grows to an unbearable level at Marvel's declaration of calling Peeta problematic and the urge to defend him festers and expands, the words bubble from his throat immediately.

"Peeta is not problematic, you don't even know him!" The reporters are finally filing out now, having got acquired all the photos and information they needed. Thankfully, or one might overhear Marvel and Cato as the two make the trek out to the locker rooms. "Maybe if you stay out of others business, maybe you would understand Peeta is not just some lowlife hook-"

Marvel clamps his mouth shut before he could finish the word. He's tempted to bite the hand covering his mouth but the way Marvel is nervously glancing behind him suspects he's doing it for Cato's own good.

Peeping out of the corner of his eye he spots Gale Hawthorne, the step son of the owner of the Raiders football team with his eyes trained on them, on Cato specifically.

President Coriolanus Snow's step son was odd to say the least.

Odd, and extremely spoiled.

It was ashame really, because he wouldn't have any trouble finding a partner, he was handsome with dark black hair, striking grey eyes and perfectly set features. But his whole demeanor came off as arrogant and greedy, not to mention that he was also an infamous player. Cato clearly remembers him messing around fruitlessly with the cheerleaders after their practice. The memory was still sickening to recall.

He continues to stare, his eyes even more piercing than Peeta's blue gaze.

Marvel ducks his head to avoid the never ending glare, while Cato boldly- and somewhat stupidly- returns the look, making it clear to Gale that Cato isn't scared of him and he might just better move along.

Gale doesn't have many friends here, well he doesn't have any friends here, but does keep an unhealthy amount of enemies on his tail.

Another thing about the infamous Gale Hawthorne. The guy was a world class snitch.

He has eyes everywhere, and being the heir to ownership of the Raider's team causes him to think that he has control over everything and everyone. Which one could argue that he does. Everyone except for Cato.

Even after he has left, Cato can still feel those unrelenting grey eyes boring into his brain, in the back of his skull. He makes a mental note to avoid Gale as much as possibly until offseason. If all goes right maybe there's an open spot on the Panthers in North Carolina waiting for him. It would definitely be an upgrade from this.

"Look I'm not saying to completely cut off Peeta, I'm just suggesting that you get your priorities straight for football before you go prancing back to him. Is that too much to ask as your fellow teammate who isn't interested in losing for the fourth time?" Marvel finishes after Gale has sauntered away. Cato nods blankly, his thoughts overrun with the image of Snow's odd step son as they make their way out of the locker room and to their cars.

Marvel swings back towards Cato as they walk suddenly remembering something important. "Oh and Cato!" Cato cocks his head to indicate that he's listening. "If I were you I would keep Peeta under lock and key in the house, I overheard that Gale has his eyes on you for some reason and I don't think the media would appreciate you owning a prostitute too much. Just to keep you informed." Marvel was curious to the point of nosiness and sometimes it's for that reason that Cato is grateful for him. The underlining respect Marvel feels for Cato causes him to keep the star well informed in all aspects of work.

Cato gives a nod of gratitude before hopping into his car and speeding away, neither of the two football players noticing fatally dark hair peaking out from a corner in the parking lot.

. . . . .

The sigh of relief exhaled by Cato as he enters the home resonates throughout the interior, Peeta's super sharp hearing picking up on it instantly.

It's always the best time of the day when Cato comes home, everything becomes much more relaxing and carefree. Having to sit all day locked up in the house is just as tiring for Peeta as football is for Cato. Although he could leave whenever he wanted to really, this is the one rule Peeta makes an effort to obey for some strange reason. Cato hasn't figured out the mystery behind why he does but he a definitely not complaining, especially after Marvel's warning and Gale's crazy glower.

But it was especially welcomed by Cato. It was his time to be no one else except for Peeta's master, which he loves. Peeta doesn't have expectations nor does he treat him like legend, but instead he perceives Cato as just Cato. He doesn't have any rules or standards Cato has to meet. And it feels nice to for once be in control instead of being controlled.

"Cato!" Sings out Peeta from upstairs. Cato happily makes his way to meet him, almost skipping to get there faster.

Ever since the thunder storm Peeta has mostly limited there sexual endeavors to just the bed. It's odds because they haven't spoken about it all. Peeta seems content to stay silence about that night as does Cato.

On his king sized bed sits Peeta, adorably dressed in an old Raider's jersey that is too big for his much slimmer frame. Two black lines are placed neatly on each one of his rosy cheeks like a player ready for game. His legs are criss-crossed, revealing a peek at his dark green boxers. He bats his eyelashes seductively while his pretty pink tongue darts out to wet his lips in the most arousing manner he can manage. And it is arousing, anything that he does that even suggests sex is arousing.

Rising up on his knees, his face reaches Cato's level and he rests his hands on the much taller blondes shoulders, leaning in slowly towards Cato's vulnerable neck. His breath tickles the bare skin as he runs a trail of kisses up to his jaw.

Bundling up his hands on the collar of the older blondes sweat stained T-shirt, he begins the kisses light, his lips barley even touching his throat and ends it's with a final kiss, one that surely left a purple lovebite visible for tomorrow.

With each kiss Peeta's hand crawls it's way slowly upward to pinch Cato's nipple, his breath hitches as Peeta's hand warms his chest. He attacks Cato's lips next, sucking his bottom lip slowly and thoughtfully while his right hand descended downward to Cato's very hard groin. His hand slips underneath his pants, rubbing Cato seductively, making excited moans arise from him.

Its all Cato can do not to go and take Peeta right there, but Peeta seems to have other ideas in mind.

Peeta's tail slips in between Cato's legs wrapping around his right leg, somehow bringing Cato closer to him than before. Grabbing onto his thighs Cato sinks the two into bed, attacking at the teasing bulge forming in Peeta's boxers. Peeta moans, his hand flying to undo Cato's pants.

"I have an idea." He suddenly pants out, heaving Cato slightly off his chest.

"Mmhmm?" Cato mumbles, his mouth still against Peeta's stomach.

"Let's play a game." Peeta suggests his eyes filled with excitement. "If you get me to scream your name at least once I'll be your slave for the whole week."

"Aren't you that already?" Cato asks, looking up from attacking his at neck Peeta with a quirked eyebrow.

Peeta snorts, "You know what I mean. To spice things up a bit. And you didn't let me finish. If you don't successfully score a touchdown on this ass then you have on the at the game tomorrow. _While I'm there_."

Cato's eyes snap open and his lips already part into a resounding 'no'.

Peeta shoves their bodies upward off the bed, hands waving in a childish hyperactive way. "Wait! Before you say no can we just look at all the great things I've done so far this past week!"

Now it was Cato's turn to snort. "Great things? Almost setting my kitchen on fire is great thing?" He challenges. Peeta recoils slightly at the memory an curses under his breath.

Due to Cato almost never being at home, it's up to Peeta to feed himself. He once mentioned about being able to bake, but his abilities are limited to only that, baking. Peeta anywhere in proximity of a kitchen is just a fire hazard in itself. Peeta cooking is just adding fuel to the flames.

Apparently the ovens circuit wasn't 'working' and it resulted in a small, tame able fire. There wasn't any damage expect for some marring on the surface of the oven eyes but still, Peeta isn't allowed to cook ever again.

"I'm telling you it wasn't me it was the oven circuit." His fingernails dig into his tail that he clutching almost painfully. "And let's not forgot about the cleaning I did, washing your clothes, which if I must say, stunk, I've followed most of your stupid rules all throughout the week and um..." He trails off, scratching his head with his tail still clutched possessively in his hand.

"Anymore bullshit you want to sprout to me before I tell you exactly why you can't come?" Cato asks. An obvious bulge in the front of his pants are straining against the denim from lack of attention.

A smirk forms on Peeta's face. "I made you cum three times in one night, that's a pretty big accomplish in my eyes."

"Your insufferable." Cato sighed rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. Why couldn't Peeta just understand what's at stake here? Seneca would have his head if the public found out about Panem.

Smiling cheekily he replies, "I know. Maybe if you don't want to take me I could call up Finnick or Gale, what do you think, would a blow job in exchange for a ticket be a good deal?"

"Gale?! You mean Gale Hawthorne? How the hell do you, of all people, know him and why is his number in you phone?!" What does he mean? Peeta couldn't know Gale because he has never meet him, at least when Cato was around. Has Gale actually came to his house? No that's not right, Cato always sees him lurking around practice. Christ, this isn't good, never mind the public finding out about his at home prostitute. If Gale finds out the damage would be much worst.

Peeta shrugs nonchalantly. "At the doctors office, the only place I could come with you." He rolls his eyes, "He was looking for you, you know. Kept asking where Cato was. Then he saw me and you know what happened."

"Why was he asking for me?"

"I don't know, that's your business not mine." He doesn't understand Cato thinks.

"Its as much of your business as it is mine. Gale is a snitch Peeta, if he finds out about you then so does everyone. Is not something that should be taken lightly, that's the only reason why you can't come with me. In fact I shouldn't have let you come with me to the doctors office, had I known this would have happened." He lowers his eyes, "I should just take you back to Panem."

He mumbles the last part so low that he doesn't think Peeta heard. But the other blonde did, with his incredibly sharp ears. Peeta's breathing starts to become sharper, and his eyes wild. He's doing that thing again, clutching his tail in his hand like it's his lifeline.

"You don't mean that. Do you?" He grips tighter, "I mean of course you would, I'm a nuisance just like Seneca said! That's why nobody ever picks me! That's why I'm always the last one to be considered, first to be put down." He's standing now, pacing around in a circle, Cato doesn't even think he's aware of what he's doing. He looks federal, almost like he did after every boom of thunder that night. The shorter blonde isn't even upset about the game, he's mad at what Cato said. He's mad at Cato.

Cato has seen many emotions from Peeta from, mischievous to playful, to snarky and scared out of his wits. But the most frightening of all is seeing Peeta mad. Words spew out of his mouth like a geyser, and at this point it seems like he's arguing more to himself than at Cato. He sounds like he's having a breakdown, tears make the bright blue of his eyes a watery grey but he manages to not let a single droplet escape. His free hands clasps onto tufts of blonde hair, yanking at the locks as he paces.

"I thought that you cared about me more than to place me back in Seneca's hands, but I guess not. I care about you enough than to do something like that."

Yes Peeta was having a breakdown, and Cato just had to be dumb enough to aggravate it instead of just being quiet.

"You know, your really sounding like my boyfriend rather than my hooker."

Instant pain blossoms from his cheek. Instinctively Cato cups a hand around the wounded area. It comes back red.

Peeta scratched him. Cato could tell it wasn't too deep but it will definitely leave a mark on game day. For everyone to see and ask questions. Damn.

"Sorry to mark up your pretty little face, but I thought you know better than throw that in my own face asshole."

With that, Peeta stomps out of the room, a plan forming already in his head.

. . . . .

He waited until midnight to call. That's exactly when Gale said to if he ever wanted to talk and Cato would definitely not be up right now. Good so he can't stop him. Besides this doesn't count as cheating since Peeta isn't his boyfriend, right?

"Hey Gale, I was wondering if you could do me a favor? Got any tickets for the game Friday?"

"Raiders game? I've never thought that you of all people would be a fan."

"Just want to go out and show my support." Peeta rolls his eyes at the faux statement. The last thing he wanted to do was support Cato. He was mad, mad at Cato for saying that stupid comment, mad that he ruled over Peeta like he was nothing more than a pet.

Mad that Cato was too dim witted to realize Peeta's feelings for him.

"Well I can definitely get you one, 2 o'clock tomorrow good for you?" Gale asked.

"Perfect it's a date."

"Indeed it is." Gale agreed his voice sounding distant.

Wait till Cato gets a hold of this.

* * *

**So Peeta caught feelings first? :O As I said before I'm a little apprehensive about this chapter but I guess it will have to do :/**

**Read and review with your thoughts, and make sure to check out the two new one shots I will be putting up in a few days. Most likely 'Cratered Hearts' will be up first. As for the second one 'Expert Advice', it may take a bit longer since it's predicted to be about 8k words.**

**Here's the summaries of my two upcoming stories:**

**_Cratered Hearts:_**

**_I'll admit it. I was just slightly obsessed. But who wouldn't be? Peeta was an enigma I just couldn't seem to solve. Peeta was everything. But then he would go and slump his shoulders in a tired, defeated way. Or tug at his hair to ward off evil thoughts. Of the past perhaps. Of what, well I _****_don't know. But I did know that his smiles were rare but when his lips did part into that breathtaking grin, you could turn all the lights off and his smile would still light up the room. He doesn't know, the effect he has, on me especially._**

**_Expert Advice:_**

**_Peeta Mellark was number 17th in London's Most Beautiful People list of 2014. A model, an entrepreneur, a public figure. Someone worthy to admire for his persistence. He was fully aware of his appeal to the eyes however, and was sharp as a whip. Peeta Mellark refused to fade into the background, and he was bent on makin_g _Cato not to as well._**


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